hauntinghyrule reblogged
Seasons change, stars drift across the heavens, and in long quiet moments the human mind returns once again to the eternal question: what even is a crocodile?
A scaled cat that holds you close in slumber?
A fevered memory of colourful wings?
An acute angle out for blood?
The worst pig?
A horrible little man with a moustache?
A banana?
Or is it possible that, as some philosophers have suggested, the true crocodile lives inside our imaginations, making it impossible to judge any answer right or wrong?
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